


Boy's Night Out

by Liadt



Category: Rising Damp (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, references to homophobic attitudes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 13:49:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22943041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liadt/pseuds/Liadt
Summary: Alan wants to have a drink somewhere he can belong. Rigsby doesn't think a gay pub is the place, but he's being dragged along anyway.
Relationships: Rupert Rigsby/Alan Moore (Rising Damp)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	Boy's Night Out

“You’re not going out dressed like that are you?” said Alan to Rigsby as he pulled on a coat. They were in the hallway of the boarding house.

“What’s wrong with it? I thought we were going to a pub: there’s no need to dress up,” said Rigsby. 

One of the things Alan had learnt since becoming Rigsby’s significant other was that his wardrobe wasn’t divided merely between his usual shabby attire and the clothes he saved for best, there were different levels of tattiness. His current dress suggested he was plumbing the depths and he wouldn’t have put it past him to have put some extra holes in his cardi. 

“Rupert, please, make an effort for me.”

“I am making an effort: I’m going to this gay pub with you, aren’t I?” 

“I don’t see why you’re dead set against it,” said Alan, in response to his scowl.

“You know why. It’ll be full of blokes wearing make-up, dressed up as tarts and...”

“Who find men attractive, just like you and me, how perverted and shocking,” cut in Alan. 

“But they’re not the same as us,” insisted Rigsby. “It’s like football. Everton and Liverpool fans both love the game, but would you put two groups of them in a pub and expect them to get on? No, it would be a stupid idea. A bloody stupid idea. Absolutely nothing in common. Us and them, that’s what it is.”

“We’ve both dressed up as women,” tried Alan. 

“That was different, it was to scare each other, not because we liked it.”

“I just want to go out without having to put up with comments.”

“You can, there’s the pub round the corner.”

“They think we’re landlord and tenant, they don’t know our real relationship.”

“We wouldn’t get any brownie points down there if they did,” sniffed Rigsby.

“That’s my point. I want to go somewhere where it doesn’t matter.”

“I don’t see why I have to suffer because you couldn’t tell your student mates you hadn’t met the right girl yet.”

“I wouldn’t want to go without you. You’re my bloke. I want to show you off,” said Alan, hoping to coax him with flattery, but really what he wanted was somewhere where Rigsby could belong to too, if that was possible, fitting in wasn’t one of his skills, it had to be said.

Rigsby puffed up at the compliment, but remained stubborn. “It's not so long ago that with your mouth you would’ve had us both sent off to have electrodes shoved down our underpants.”

“But it’s been more than a decade since they changed the law. We not doing anything wrong, so why do we have to go around acting like we are and keep us secret?”

Rigsby sighed. “It won’t be long until you graduate and you won’t have to see them again.”

“I’ll still see some of them when I’m a junior doctor and you’re not listening. I liked having a quiet drink in the student pub after lectures, until they started treating me like I had a second head.”

“It’s a hard life being a student, not like going down the mines.” Rigsby held that students were essentially workshy and should get a proper job, instead of sponging off the government. 

“And I did tell them I hadn’t met the right girl yet and they said that’s what showbiz stars in the closet say and asked if I was gay and I said yes, even though I knew they were joking and it wasn’t a serious question. It was a moment of madness, I suppose, but I didn’t think telling the truth would effect me. They were already teasing me for my apparent lack of luck in the love department and I thought it wouldn’t make any difference to me if they knew. Turns out not all teasing is equal. It’d be nice to go to the lav without anyone making any “hilarious” comments,” said Alan, gloomily. 

Rigsby softened. He though Alan needed to toughen up, but he didn’t like to see him upset. “Oh love, I know it’s unfair, but the world isn’t fair,” he said and hugged Alan tight. “But they don’t matter do they? They’re just morons for all their medical exams. I’ll go to the gay pub with you, I’m sure it will be very … delightful.”

* * * *

Alan pushed open the door to the pub. It looked like any other pub he’d been in. In a way, he was disappointed, he thought there would have at least been some naked male statues dotted about. It was fairly early in the evening and the few other punters there were dressed in sober suits, presumably they’d come straight from work.

“See, not different at all,” whispered Alan to Rigsby, who replied with a sniff. Just because he’d come out of love for Alan didn’t mean he had to love being there and pulled his mac tighter around him. 

The only difference to other hostelries Alan could see was that the barman was wearing a very tight vest. Despite Rigsby’s attitude, Alan brightened; no man would dress like that in another pub unless he wanted to be asked if his vest had shrunk in the wash by all the punters, repeatedly. It was a refreshing change to be somewhere where people felt free to express themselves sartorially and be who they were without comment. 

One of the men in sober suits went to the bar. “Same again, love. Put your vest on too hot a wash, did you?”

“I was trying to shrink it to fit my action man,” replied the barman as he pulled a pint. 

“You said that to the other bloke.”

“It’s extra if you want a new answer to the same question."

Oh well, people were like that round here, thought Alan. He went up to the bar next. Rigsby followed, but hung back. All the better to disapprove of the lack of a shirt.

“Two pints of bitter, please,” said Alan. 

“I’ve not seen you here before,” said the barman. 

“It’s our first visit,” said Alan. 

“I thought so. I’m Gaz, by the way,” said the barman and smiled.

“I’m Alan and this is my partner, Rigsby,” said Alan and smiled back, happy to be able to say that without it being a problem.

Rigsby gave a brief nod of recognition and then looked away.

“The strong, silent type, eh?” said Gaz and gave Alan a wink.

“He’s normally a lot more talkative,” said Alan, embarrassed by Rigsby’s manner. 

“Don’t worry about that, I’m sure he’ll liven up when he sees Curly. Is that why you’ve come? I know she has a following up and down the country.”

“Who’s Curly?” said Alan.

“The original Curly Bassey. Shirley Bassey nicked her entire act, y’know. She couldn’t decide if she wanted to sing the Bond theme or be one of his girls, but Bond waits for no one. Still 007’s loss is our gain. She’s performing here tonight.” Gaz pointed at a poster on the wall. 

“We’ll have to stay and watch won’t we?” said Alan.

Rigsby looked at the poster and grunted. A drag act. Soon as it got busy, the rest of his worst fears were bound to turn up too. He wonder what was the shortest length of time he should wait before he could suggest leaving, maybe he’d get lucky and Alan would realize sharpish he’d been right about coming here all along. 

* * * * 

Last orders had been drunk and Alan and Rigsby were walking down the hill to the nearest taxi rank in town. Rigsby had acquired a hot pink, feather boa and a smear of glittery make-up highlighted one of his cheekbones. He was holding on to Alan for support as he had become quite drunk on his new, favourite drink of brightly coloured cocktails that came with little umbrellas, glacé cherries and any other shiny thing that could be used to adorn a glass.

“This place is great, Alan. Can we go again tomorrow?” said Rigsby and joyfully rolled a cocktail umbrella in his fingers and released it to watch it spin to the ground. “They liked me! Usually when I go to a place they only like me until they realise I’m not a waiter,” he continued, the alcohol working like a truth drug. “But Curly gave me her feather boa and called me Pat after the actress who plays the very best character in ‘Corrie’. She said my tales of my childhood reminded her of it.”

“I know, I was sat next to you as you made yourself comfy in her lap,” said Alan, irritably. 

“All the chairs had gone and she was a big lad, it made sense to make use of her lap. She didn’t mind. Are we coming back tomorrow?”

“Gaz said it’d be dead tomorrow. There won’t be any men dressed up as women at all.” Alan couldn’t resist adding that as, this morning, men wearing women’s clothes was Rigsby’s number one reason why other gay men weren’t the same as them and must be avoided. 

Rigsby was oblivious to the dig. “Do you think I should start a drag act?”

“What?” Alan stumbled in the street in shock, nearly sending them both flying to the ground. 

“I was a good singer when I was young, I could’ve won awards. Should I get a long, blonde wig or a dark one? I know blondes have more fun, but I don’t think it’d suit my colouring. And what should I wear? When I think about it, I don’t have the legs for a skirt. I wouldn’t want to be mutton dressed as lamb. You’ve got lovely, long legs. You wouldn’t need a wig if you grew your hair again either. Are you any good at singing? Try to sing along with me.” Rigsby broke into a few bars of a song, then forgot how the lyrics went and hummed.

“My singing’s terrible,” lied Alan, who didn’t want a career in drag and was even more alarmed about Rigsby starting one, neither his ears or his eyes would be able to take it if he did.

Rigsby sighed theatrically. “There goes our shot at entering the glittering world of showbiz, but I shall keep this boa on me all the time. It will never leave my side in memory of what might have been.”

“Even to the Co-op?”

“It’ll never leave my side around the house then.” Even drunk Rigsby realised picking up the groceries in a boa was somewhat over the top in this town. “Did you enjoy the night? You were desperate to go and now you’ve got a face like a wet weekend. Is it because I got all these numbers?” From his coat pocket, he drew out a stack of beermats, with telephone numbers written on them. “That’s the first time this has happened to me. I never got numbers and offers off girls on a night out. I don’t know why I ever bothered with them. Women: they’re just trouble, especially if you marry them.” He squinted at what was written on the beer mats and shoved one in Alan’s face. “Look at what Danny wrote, that’s nice. I liked him, he was lovely.”

Alan pushed the card away, he couldn’t read it that close up and didn’t want to. “He had more make-up on than the counter at Boots.” 

“It suited him: it enhanced his looks.”

Alan raised an eyebrow, reason number two against going was, as it was closely tied in with number one, men wearing make-up. “What about the bloke in the grey suit? I thought he’d be more your type, he wore trousers.”

Rigsby missed the sarcasm. “He was good looking, but look at what he wrote, ‘Call me anytime, Daddy Pat’. I don’t want someone with a daddy kink.”

“It’s lucky I didn’t turn out to have a daddy kink then” snapped Alan.

“Ah, I didn’t think. Don’t be jealous, Alan, you’re my favourite boy. My only boy. I wouldn’t swap any one of them for you. They don’t hold a candle to you. Your eyes, your eyes are like … nice things,” said Rigsby failing to come up with anything poetic. “The blokes in there kept saying to me how pretty you are and how lucky I am.” He dropped the beer mats to show how little they meant to him and tried to swing Alan into a kiss. Alan squirmed and turned his head to the side. He didn’t want to test out what would happen to two men seen kissing in the street, after chucking out time, by drunks from less liberal pubs. 

A taxi pulled alongside them. The window was wound down on the passenger side and a wolf whistle came from inside. Terror gripped Alan’s heart followed by relief as the passenger shouted at them, “Hey, Pat, Alan, fancy a lift or would you prefer to do it in the road? No charge, my bloke’s the driver.” The passenger was Terry, who by day was an accountant, but dressed like he worked in an exploding sequin factory at night. 

Alan gratefully towed Rigsby to the cab, opened a door and they both fell on the back seat and told Terry their address. 

“Geoff, this is Pat and Alan. I met them in the audience for Curly tonight,” said Terry.

Geoff nodded to them through the rear view mirror. He had long, messy, dark hair, wore black gloves and, incongruously, biker leathers.

“He doesn’t say much and I talk too much so it all evens out,” said Terry.

“The perfect match,” said Alan, with a grin.

“Is he an ‘Avengers’ fan with all the leather? I used to like that show, it had birds in leather beating up blokes,” slurred Rigsby.

Amused, Geoff smiled and Terry answered for him. “He’s a serious biker and you know the saying?”

“No,” said Alan.

“All the gear, all the time,” said Terry, with a laugh. “A biker’s gear is his protection, while a driver’s is the car. Geoff doesn’t think a car will offer much protection in a crash. He showed me with a sledge hammer on a Ford Anglia once. He used to work at a scrapyard.”

“Does he get time off from driving nights?” said Rigsby, who didn’t seem bothered by this information about Geoff’s destructive tendencies. 

“Yeah, we’ll be at the bar tomorrow if you fancy another free lift there," said Terry.

Alan felt Rigsby’s hand slide around him to give him a squeeze. Alan smiled, Rupert wanted to know all the gays now and they gave free lifts too. “Tell us what time you’ll pick us up and we’ll be waiting.” Alan kept smiling as Rigsby snuggled up to him, pleased to know they would be returning.

Sat cuddled up on the back seat, a stab of shame went through Alan over his annoyance with him. After all, Rigsby had enjoyed himself and shed a few prejudices in the process which was what Alan wanted in the first place. Rigsby had been right, who cared about what a bunch of stupid students thought. You can’t expect everyone to like you, that had been another piece of advice, he’d thought Rigsby was being grouchy because he’d come to the student pub once and hated it, but now Alan accepted it as sound advice. He supposed his mood had been due to jealousy, really, he’d felt pushed to one side. Before they went, he’d thought he’d be the one getting all the attention and he wasn’t used to Rigsby being popular. Ruth and Philip were supportive of Alan’s choice, but thought he was barmy to go out with him, his parents hadn’t lost the confused expression saying ‘why the landlord?’ yet and the students that weren’t bigots focused on the age gap instead. On the whole people didn’t warm to Rigsby. A little envy was a small price to pay to have somewhere where they were accepted and made Rupert open his wallet for more than one drink. He wasn’t sure how long that last positive development could last. 

The cab pulled up outside the boarding house and after saying their goodbyes, they made their way up the path. Philip was already at the front door fishing his key out of his pocket. He smelt of women’s perfume indicating he wasn’t the only one who’d had a good night out. 

“Been out with a girl?” said Rigsby, as they waited for Philip to open the door.

“I have,” said Philip.

“Not doing very well here, are you? Down from ten to one,” continued Rigsby.

Philip ignored him.

“I, however, have had a whole roomful of men.”

“We’ve been to the gay pub on Cross Street,” said Alan.

Philip nodded, he knew what Rigsby was going on about now. “I’ve been there, it has some good cabaret acts on. I found it easy to get plenty of offers off men. The barman offered me a cardboard box to put all the numbers in to carry home once,” said Philip, smoothly. 

Rigsby was irritated by Philip’s success in that sphere, no doubt he was telling the truth, the silver tongued swine. “I bet it was no bigger than a matchbox,” he mumbled, grumpily. Philip was putting a dampener on his night. 

“He didn’t get me though,” said Alan, who thought Rigsby deserved to have his moment continue for a while longer.

“No, he didn’t,” said Rigsby, happily.

“Or a feather boa,” said Alan, playfully batting at it, which made Rigsby pull him into an embrace.

Unnoticed by the two men, who only had eyes for each other, Philip rolled his eyes and then, after getting over the nauseating soppiness, smiled at Alan being sweetly loyal before leaving them to it.


End file.
